


Cinnamon and Spice and Everything Nice

by fElBiTeR



Series: Flufftember 2020 [1]
Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous Relationships, Conversations, Ficlet, Fluff, Flufftember, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Post-Canon, They Miss Each Other But Don't Really Say It, This Is Sort Of A Coffee Shop AU But Also Not Really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26247922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fElBiTeR/pseuds/fElBiTeR
Summary: A glimpse into Yassen and Alex's relationship.
Relationships: Yassen Gregorovich & Alex Rider
Series: Flufftember 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906777
Comments: 7
Kudos: 60
Collections: AR Flufftember 2020





	Cinnamon and Spice and Everything Nice

**Author's Note:**

> my writing habit's really, really bad so I doubt I could do one of these per day... but this particular ficlet is set in a verse where alex is 19-ish and in college, yassen had to go overseas for 'business' recently, and alex gets a part-time job in the meanwhile

“You're back! What are you doing here?” Alex asks, wide-eyed and jaw slightly dropped. His hands, previously occupied with putting change in the register from the previous customer, are now frozen, hovering over the touchscreen of the tablet screwed into the counter, instinctively prepared to lock in his next order.

“I’d like a vanilla frappe with extra whipped cream,” Yassen says, ignoring Alex’s bewildered expression.

Alex, like the dutiful employee that he is, punches in the order. Only a moment later when his brain finally catches up to what he’s just heard does he suddenly feel slightly taken aback at the assassin’s drink choice. His eyes, however, don’t wander far from Yassen, who seems to be busy taking in the sight of the entire rest of the shop, probably a second nature safety sort of thing ingrained in him.

Alex goes and grabs a medium-sized cup, really not in the mood to turn back around and ask for what sized drink Yassen wants in a nice customer service voice. Pump. Pour. Pump. Scoop. Blend. Pour. Top. Rinse. Boring.

Alex slows down before he reaches the last couple of steps. He eyes the cinnamon, sitting innocuously on the shelf. And then he adds a pump in. Then his hands move without his permission and he adds even _more_ in. He finishes the drink, pops the cap on and habitually sets it on the counter.

Yassen reaches for the cup as soon as it’s ready.

“Wait, don’t drink that!” Alex blurts, panic evident in his tone. Yassen’s head snaps up to meet his gaze with a professional alertness that Alex knows very, very well, the assassin’s hand automatically reaching for wherever he must be keeping a gun. Yassen’s posture relaxes only after he sees that there’s no imminent danger and instead only a silly minor panic that can be chalked up to a random teenage outburst.

“I’ll make you a different one,” Alex apologizes as he swipes the drink from the counter before Yassen can grab it. Alex turns to dump it into a handy trash bin nearby, one that he very much wants to crawl into, his stomach churning with an unnamed emotion thinking about how the other man reached for his gun protectively at the slightest sign of Alex’s alarm, but Yassen stops him in his tracks, his hand shooting out and snatching the drink straight from Alex’s fingers.

“What’s wrong with it?” Yassen asks, a curious expression on his face.

“Um,” Alex says, quite eloquently, the back of his neck starting to heat up. 

Yassen stares at him patiently.

“Nothing,” Alex finally replies, mumbling. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You don’t know what you were thinking?”

“I—erm—made the drink wrong. It probably tastes disgusting.”

“It looks normal to me.” Yassen peers into the clear cup. _Normal?_ How often did Yassen drink this sort of thing? “What did you add, Alex?”

“What?” Alex says. “Why do you think I added anything?”

“I watched you make it,” Yassen replies as if that explains everything. As if he knows the exact steps that go into making this drink.

Alex opens his mouth. Shuts it again. His shift is almost over and Yassen is the last customer he has to deal with.

“Cinnamon,” Alex mutters, finally conceding.

“Why?” Yassen looks puzzled.

Alex says something completely too quiet to be discernible to anybody except trained ears.

“You’re going to have to repeat yourself, Alex. I’m afraid I’m going deaf in my old age,” Yassen says, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips.

Alex’s face flushes a bright red. “It’s how I normally make mine... because the cinnamon reminds me of you.” Alex doesn’t know if it’s Yassen’s cologne or his natural scent, but whenever the assassin is close enough, Alex can catch the briefest trail of a lingering fragrance, something spicy and pleasant.

Yassen tilts his head at this little revelation. There’s something almost smug in his eyes, like he’s pleased that Alex can’t even enjoy an iced drink without thinking about him, can’t even work without thinking about Yassen because all Alex _does_ is make iced drinks, can’t even go a single minute of his life without his mind wandering to the assassin.

“And you’re not old,” Alex mutters as an afterthought, watching Yassen reach over the counter and pluck the straw Alex has forgotten. “You’re only forty.”

Yassen casually sticks the straw into the drink and takes a quick sip. Alex doesn’t notice himself leaning forwards, eagerly awaiting the assassin’s opinion.

Yassen blinks. Takes another much longer sip. Nods approvingly. 

Alex releases a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding, already reaching back and beginning to untie his work-mandated apron. 

After Alex is done clocking out of his shift, Yassen is waiting for him outside the shop, drink in hand, empty of its content. He tosses it away. They begin to walk, side by side.

Yassen hums. “Do you have any more classes today?”

The question is only a formality. Yassen knows exactly what Alex’s schedule looks like.

“No,” Alex says quietly. “I’m free for the rest of the day.”

Yassen glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Tomorrow morning?”

Alex nearly trips over thin air but quickly rebalances himself so he doesn’t seem like a total embarrassment next to someone who looks like they belong on the next cover of GQ magazine. A flock of passing students notice Alex’s near-fall, but he’s quickly forgotten when their eyes shift onto Yassen, who’s effortlessly wearing a black cashmere sweater made of some really expensive material, the turtleneck collar folded below his Adam’s apple, sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. Beige chinos sit perfectly on his lean frame, stopping just short of his ankles. He looks really _nice_.

Yassen could easily be mistaken for a college student. Alex thinks he sees some of the girls working up the nerve to approach them.

“No.” Alex swallows, his mouth going dry. “Nothing in the morning.”

Yassen, noticing Alex’s sudden tenseness, reaches for his left hand where it's twitching nervously at his side. Yassen laces his calloused fingers through Alex’s, intertwining them, warm, palm pressed against palm soothingly.

The tension in Alex immediately sags at the touch. Their shoulders lightly bump against each other. 

The girls falter. The college students look away.

“Thank you,” Alex says softly.

Yassen squeezes Alex’s hand in acknowledgement, closing the space in between them to press a soft kiss against his forehead. Alex sighs contentedly, leaning into the gentle contact. He's missed this.

**Author's Note:**

> I've actually completely forgotten how to write fluff... I wrote this, reread it, and then went, "why the fuck does this feel so melancholy???" so obviously my writing has a mind of its own *nervous laughter*
> 
> lemme know if you like these or if I should just go back to writing pain<3


End file.
